The Bewitching Hours of Mumur
by Shizusasori9
Summary: Following in his dads footsteps,he works at the same company that creates news articles. His boss, Wilburt gave Issac an assignment to go find out if what one of the articles online that said about Maite has some paranormal activity going on there. while on his way of solving the case he meets unexpected people that helps him in solving the case. First story here, please enjoy! :)
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Many years back, precisely twenty five years ,my father died. You might be thinking what might be so special about it, it can happen to people who are old or sick, to people who are in car accidents, or in his case, are murdered. There was never a day that went by that I didn't think about him. Sometimes, it was when I was sitting reading a book or watching the news channel that a sudden wave of melancholy came across my body. And there always seemed to be a void surrounding me, like that feeling I get when someone had left a room. Even though I may not have been talking, emptiness in the silence could be as loud as a terrorizing scream. The police at the time said it was a robbery gone wrong, yet the only thing they took was my father's journal.

I couldn't quite believe the story that I heard just two weeks ago. I was working for the Nirvana Express, a place where we create magazines or newspapers but is often regarded with contempt and distaste, and my father, well he used to be the director of it. Generally, it covers political news, a bit of sport, and a few pages of small cover stories sent in by Riverlance Forever journalists on the off chance the editor might offer them a full time post. Most can't write an article, so I find myself reading and reviewing those that are of some interest and setting them right before going to press. Quite a few would go in the garbage and depending on Wilbert's mood, that's my boss by the way, the others I put forward are read by him. If he likes the story, it gets published, if not, it joins the trash buddies.

Before the papers were due, I had already revived about thirty or so having to stay up really late at night. There were ten that I never got past the first pages, because they were so bad, but the following twenty were fine, so I put them in my order of preference and placed them on Wilbert's desk for him to read the following morning. Normally, Wilbert would choose ten that would eventually go to the press and sometimes the others are held for more research or debunked considering how he feels.

By the time I got to my office, around 8:00 am, Wilbert had already read the stories I had suggested. My guess was that he had been in at dawn just to get ahead of the workers printing the newspapers down in the basement. The ten he had chosen were already in my tray waiting for me, stacked into a neat little pile for final approval. It was my job to take them down to the press room, so they can be scanned. Wilbert's office is on the corridor leading to the main elevators, a fifteen foot square room that consists of a glass floor to ceiling partition with an inset door hung on silver hinges screwed into the half inch plate. A giant antique oak bureau that's supposed to be a perfect replica of the United States President's desk sits up at the White house. Wilbert is really fond of the President since he has studied and researched many news articles from the United States. On the wall behind his high backed, brown leather swivel chair is a poor painted portrait of Wilbert sitting regally staring down at himself. The rest of the room is filled up with a row of windows that look down onto lower Quilevia Avenue and the corner of west Sixth Street on Raesmort.

I was oblivious to everything around me as I sauntered down the corridor listening to a podcast of a previous day's news programme that aired on Rw . As I passed by, out of the corner of my eye, I could see Wilbert waving to me. Anxiously, I opened the door. It was rare talking to him face to face; mostly, it was by phone or email. I felt my mouth go dry as I stood there, like a school kid ready to see the Principal.

"Isaac,'' he said smiling while rising from his chair that creaked and groaned as it relaxed from bearing his weight. "Good to see you my, boy,'' he said, genuinely holding out his hand.

His grip was solid and secure, the sign of a confident man. "I'm fine Wilbert.'' I choked, instantly realizing I'd made a mistake. "I mean, Mr. Jenkins. Sorry sir!'' I said, quickly correcting myself, looking down.

He blew off my blunder with a wave of his other hand and offered me a seat on the other side of his vast desk. The room smelt of burnt tobacco and expensive scotch that was smouldering in a cut glass ashtray, and he held the ice laden whiskey with two of his fingers. "Can I offer you a drink, Isaac?'' he asked, pointing to the stocked cabinet to his left. I declined graciously with the excuse that it was too early in the morning for me. Little did he know that any other time, I would have broken his arm for one, but I thought it better to come across as a good employee.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Jenkins?'' I asked jealously, watching as he topped up his glass. Wilbert leaned back into his chair and threw his six hundred dollar Brown boots onto his desk and relit his cigar with his thumbnail flick tipped match.

"I'm sending you on a road trip Isaac,'' he said in between what looked like exhaustive puffs.

"Up to Paola, in fact"

"Which town?" I asked.

"Maite,'' he replied, blowing out a ring of smoke,"Know it?"

I shook my head, "Isn't it an island of some sort? What's the report?"


	2. Chapter 2

He leaned down and opened a drawer that was inset into the right leg of his bureau; from inside, he lifted out and passed over a few sheets of paper indicating with his finger for me to read. I skimmed across the four pages quickly and was immediately aware by their headline script that it was one of the twenty I had previously read. The article's title was "The Bewitching Hour of Murmurs,'' and it had been written and submitted by a young journalist named Geline Pottrott who worked on Maite local community paper. A twice monthly small free circular with a turnover of about two thousand prints, making its money on home grown advertising, the basic story centered round the town's radio station that runs a late night phone-in from midnight until three in the morning. Nothing unusual with that, but it would seem that for the last months or so every Wednesday, exactly three minutes past the witching hour the DJ who went by the name Selvix had been taking a call from a young boy called Matt Drupal who claimed to be lost. When Selvix asked him where he was phoning from, the boy explained it was from a cell phone his mother had given him to keep him safe. Nothing uncommon in that either, until listeners took into account that the boy was found murdered back in January twelve weeks ago. The phone the boy claimed to be using was placed in his coffin just before his family buried him, so how could this be possible? Of course, everybody had discredited this as a pure hoax, except for this young journalist, Geline, who went to his grave and rang his cell phone. She described her day at the cemetery as wet and blustery but with an eerie sense that she was being watched. She wrote that when she called Matt's phone, she could hear a faint ringing above the graveyard wind. When she put her ear to the damp earth, she could make it out more clearly, and was certain that it was coming from his grave. The phone calls continued to come every week, only now they were not broadcasted; instead, a producer on the station listened and took a transcript of the phone in, making note of all Matt's conversations.

"I want you to meet up with this girl Geline, Isaac. Take her out for a drink and get some more info on this story. I think we could run this for a few weeks, what do you think?''

"You're joking right?" I laughed, but Wilbert never flinched at my remark.

"It's over three hundred miles from here boss,'' I meekly protested. ''A good eight hour drive just to have a cup of coffee with some hick and a senseless article, are you being serious?''

Wilbert eased his feet off his desk and pushed back his Boss glasses onto the bridge of his nose. I could see he was about to put his favourite ballcap on and give me an order I couldn't or shouldn't refuse."Look, Isaac,'' he said sipping from his glass looking every bit the spitting image of a cobra ready to strike any time, "you're a nice kid. Your father and I went way back, but this is not a request. Two days from now, the station will hopefully receive another phone call. I want you there when it happens, see if you find out who's really making these contacts and do your report, now get out of here.''


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

I gathered up the papers Mr. Jenkins gave me and used a pencil to scribble down the location of the radio station on to the corner of one sheet. Back at my desk, I was able to Google its whereabouts, and it seemed that Rw was now broadcasting from the old lighthouse at Dageway point. Bayside Cemetery where the boy was interred, a fifteen minute drive across town from the lighthouse. I figured I would look for a base somewhere in between to stay for a few days. Once again, Google came up, and I found a small motel with cheap pay rates midtown. By the time I drove to my apartment and gathered up a few things for my trip, it was 11:30am when I turned on to highway 87 out of Ruppia. The route was to straight along by the coast taking in Bover, then through Quartland onto Jurnit and Asevent then finally Maite. Without any delay, it should be close to 8:00 or 9:00 pm when I arrive depending on the traffic.

Before I had left my office desk, I had phoned ahead and pre-booked my room with a very courteous lady called Jasmine who was the manager for the reception desk at the Venetian Douper. Her patience was commendable even though I told her I was in a hurry and if she would please just give me the quietest room in the building. She continued on with her well honed sales pitch on how the motel was a sprawling, blue painted wood framed structure recently modernized and boasting free Wi-Fi, flat screen TV and comforting air conditioning. She took care to mention the fact that each newly bought king size bed had been fitted with hand picked by her as a neutral brown and cream bed linen. I thanked her, paid by Credit Card, but had felt exhausted by the whole transaction.

As I drove along, in the back of my mind I was concerned about how I would approach the story with Geline, it had been a very short period of time since the boy's death, and the circumstances of which Ms. Pottrott either decided to not extrapolate, or she had been asked not to. Either way, I was going to be very much in the dark, regarding my position, and I may have to tread lightly in order to gain everyone's confidence and approval. It had been a long time since I had done any in-depth journalism, so I expected it to be a tedious and short journey there and back.

About fifty miles along Ruppia Road, I stop at an Esso gas station to fill up and grab some Coke, smokes, and chips for the trip. After a quick washroom break in the only toilet I kept going until I hit Maite. Along with my phone call to secure a room for the night, I took time to speak to the radio stations who very kindly gave me Ms. Geline's cell number. I called and left her a voicemail explaining who I was and would she mind meeting up to discuss her story over a drink tonight. I hoped she could drop into the Douper's bar where I would be waiting at around 10pm, that should give me enough time to get there and check in.

The highway was surprisingly busy, but I made good time to Bover in just over an hour. As I passed through this quiet little town, I let my eyes take in its quaint and enjoyable atmosphere. Downtown Bover seemed to be made up of a reluctant moving Main Street, ambling pedestrians, and the smell of the Livana River. Red brick contemporary buildings mixed well with older seventeenth century structures that had lasted since the first settlers. My brochure from the gas station highlighted the Livana Mill, an enormous rustic construction that seems to take up much of the town. Surrounded by lush green trees, it felt like I had just enjoyed a good whiskey. Pellets of rain spittled across my windshield as I carried on through and back onto the 87.

Everyone who lived here knew about the most famous baseball team, The Woroling Sea Dogs. The fact I was heading there brought back some great memories of when dad used to bring me to see their games when I was a kid. At any other stage, I would have stopped but my tight traveling constraints left me little time for any sightseeing, so I hammered on through town and made it to Quartland by 2:28 in the afternoon. The rain had followed me all the way from Bover but had never become more to anything other than a drizzle. I had only ever made short trips in my old Ford, so by now I was suffering from it's less than comfortable, worn out seats, resulting in a dull ache in my left shoulder that began to irritate me, it was most likely brought on by my poor driving posture. While trying to ignore it, I wondered whether Wilbert had sent me on a wild goose chase when my cell phone rang. After checking my mirror to make sure the traffic cops weren't behind me, I picked up the phone and answered. It was Geline, and she seemed excited that I was interested in her story and on my way to discuss it. Her voice was pleasant and warm with a hint of New England and a drawl that sounds like they are singing each line.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four

By the time I start across the Dritec River Bridge, a formidable steel expansion that led the way into downtown Jurnit, the light and the rain was fading out. An orange sun hung low in a yellow and terracotta sky and only the sound of the water and nesting birds in the surrounding pine trees cut into the otherwise peaceful afternoon. Asevent, the capital city is less than six miles ahead and I was getting closer to Maite. I was glad, because I had nearly used up my supplies, and I was in no mood to stop again. Sredux Street in town is as quiet as the bridge. Few cars were moving in the narrow street that boasted the old and contemporary. Patriotic Canadian flags fluttered from every other shop and tavern, creating the feeling of a charming small town but I have the sense that commerce and business was just as important. I cruised by Capitol Frome, craning my neck to get a good view of the golden lady pointing skyward holding her chalice of fire. The old federal building looked like it would have been more at home in an old gothic horror movie with its grey stone facade, dark archway entrance, and jutting pointed slate turrets. Breathtaking as it all was, I was conscious that time was creeping by and I needed to push on.

Maite was a city in Trenia Coastal Braq, located at the mouth of Galipeussaliipia River on Meitan Bay. About seven thousand people lived and worked around this old Indian waterway. It's name meant 'A place of spearing Fish'. Around 1720 General Saluna Trunt, a rich land developer, bought the land with the ambition of setting up a colony. After turning it into a plantation, he died in 1739. His heirs sold it to 45 Tropian proprietors who gave it the name Maite. French and English immigrants were encouraged to settle in the village where it soon prospered. By 1863, it had become a city producing four and five mast schools. All this I remember enduring seminar according to my old school teacher one wet afternoon in april many months ago, backed up recently by Wikipedia and the power of Google.

When I pulled into the Venetian Douper parking lot, the moon was sitting low and bright in the purple night sky, the smell of fresh water saturating the air, enhancing the atmosphere, and encourages the tree and grass life around the motel to bloom extensively. My lungs were ill with having to deal with such purity, leaving me struggling to breathe. I reached out into the back and grabbed my only bag I had brought from Ruppia, and pushed the trash I have accumulated onto the coffee stained, passenger seat, with the promise of clearing it out tomorrow. Three of the other ten rooms on either side of the small reception area had lights on. It would seem that this would indeed be just the place to get some peace and quiet. If there was any gossip to be had about what actually goes on in this little town to disturb me, then Jasmine would be the one to know about it. That's of course if she was still working this evening. Two wooden steps led up to the small glass door that had a thin pink lace curtain hanging behind it. From the open window I could hear the rich sound of the latest fashion radio playing in the background singing out in monotone, a Marle Havard tune about being an 'Okie from Duskogee.' More loose gravel started to crunch under my feet the closer I got, on my short walk to the entrance. From behind the drapes, I could see a portly dark haired woman sitting miming perfectly with the melodic overtones of the bearded one. She had a pencil in her hand and in-between writing something down, it looked as if she was conducting the band with it. This was, without a doubt, Jasmine. I put my best smile before turning the brass doorknob. Above my head, a little bell tinkled announcing my arrival as I stepped in. Marle Havard immediately faded to black, and Jasmine's smile dazzled me like a string of pearls on a well tanned neck.

"You must be Mr. Wilmen." She oozed rising up from her seat, revealing her ample bosom that is being curtailed by a size perfectly medium blue blazer and white blouse. Up close, her crimson lipstick had blanched onto her perfectly straight teeth that must have cost about six thousand dollars to implant. She pushes the back of her buoyant newly permed auburn hair lightly as if to highlight its size and dropped her eyes in false flirtation. I could feel myself being scanned by her sky blue eyes making me suddenly aware of my less than pristine attire of stained jeans and Coke stained white t-shirt.

"Call me Isaac,'' I croaked while shifting on my feet embarrassed by my now evident body odour. "You're Jasmine I presume. Has a lady called Geline Pottrott been asking for me. I gave her this number?'' I think I had disappointed her by mentioning Geline's name so soon into our meeting, because her disposition suddenly shifted into the professional overtones that she took on the phone when I made my reservation. Her eyes are no longer conducting a valuation of me and she was indicating to her book that I should sign in.

"Room 21.'' She smiled with those pearly whites. " Down the hall on the left.'' she pointed with her pencil, "You have a nice stay now.''

"Thank you,'' I replied and headed towards my room. Behind me, I could hear Dwilght Yalkem fading in crooning 'Aint that lonely yet ' It would seem Jasmine has returned to her broadcast. Inside it looks exactly like she had described, I switched on the TV and threw my bag onto the bed.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter five

A quick look in the mini bar made my mind up what would be first; I gave in to a Jax Divens with ice, the only drink I had in two years. I carried the drink back down the hallway to my room. The first sip hits my throat like a whip crack then seeped down into a warm caress down my throat, making my travelled body slowly fall onto the soft couch below me. Gradually, I began to have the sensation of not moving and allowing the deep soothing impression that the alcohol is giving me to draw me into the realm of sleep. I've almost dozed off when the phone beside my bed rang so loud it makes me jump upwards spilling what remains of my drink over my Coke tarnished shirt. "Oh My god!'' I heard myself screaming into the room. It rang again. I felt belligerent and enraged before I even reach to answer but I restrained myself in case it's either, Jasmine, Miss Geline, or worse, my boss.

To my astonishment, it was none of the above. At first, all I could hear was static noise hissing so loud, I held the phone away from me, then a faint breathing morphs into a voice that sounded like it's coming from within a steel drum, just like I did when I was a kid with two old tin cans and a piece of string. "Who is this?'' I ask, attentively waiting for a reply yet scared of who or what might answer me. A child's voice, a boy, pierced my head in a scream, sending me reeling backwards making me drop the expensive phone onto the floor, it rolls and pivots across the carpet as if held in a ghost-like hand. I feel myself draw my legs up like a woman who's just seen a large rat scurry past her and shriek a silent 'What in the World!' as the handset rises to my eye level and hovers silently before me like a Viper snake ready to spit out its venom, a voice whispers.

"Four, Three, two, one'' Right away it dropped to the ground percolating out only its dialling tone.

For a moment, I wasn't unsure just what had taken place and was sitting silently just staring at the buzzing handset. Either I had imagined everything, and it was brought on by my shot of whiskey, or I had witnessed something paranormal. I think I would have prefered believing the latter but that would be the easy way out. Before I nervously placed the phone back on its cradle, I quickly jotted the four numbers down onto a notepad beside my bed, hoping that my meeting with Geline would make some sense of what had just transpired. Even as I considered this, my doubts about revealing my encounter with the devil, if that's who or what he was, to her it may not be a good opening line. I finally decided to wait and see just how things would pan out.

After my well deserved shower, I put on my only clean pressed blue shirt, second best pair of blue jeans, and nearly new brown leather shoes, then I tied my hair back. The only cologne I can find is the bathroom air freshener. In my haste, I had forgotten my favourite Hugo Boss. My cell phone rang just as I was brushing my teeth. Geline had just arrived in the parking lot, and wanting to meet in the bar. In order for me to get there, I had to pass by Jasmine. I pondered on whether or no,t I should've used up all my brownie points with her after my less than amicable arrival. It had always been my opinion there were few people in life I should offend, one being my mother, the others being the guy who serves my dinner and hotel receptionists. I put on my best chivalrous manner, trying and redeem myself with Ruby. I pasted on a smile and stopped to commend her on her fine choice of handmade bed linen and homey décor, all of which were just as she had described. This seemed to do the trick, and we left each other smiling with the promise of a drink together later.

The bar continued its unpretentious design much like the rest of the motel, and I could see Jasmine's influence everywhere. Geline was sitting by the open fire throwing a warm orange glow across the striped pine floor, and I could feel its heat on my face as I approached. Geline was smaller than I had imagined. Her well polished, journalistic voice had made me think she was a six foot ball breaker when we spoke on the phone. However what I saw reminded me of the collage girls who failed to make it onto the cheer-leading team, not because of their good looks, but more for the reason that they had both beauty and brains, a combination usually frowned upon by the leader of the pack. Hence, the side step into the school paper were she would no doubt have found her niche. Her long, honey blonde hair was cascading down across her shoulders hiding her expensive black Valentine glasses. An item of accessory usually out of reach by any stretch of the imagination of a poor guy trying to make a living on the local rag, this would suggest to me a trust fund or a well to do set of parents. I hoped she wouldn't turn out to be a spoiled brat, so when she rose and smiled to me, I held my hand out with candid caution. Her grip was firm and felt well rehearsed, most likely from meetings and greeting dignitaries or well to do potentates.

"Hey,'' she said to my pleasure. "how are you?'' She sang in her New England intonation. I was unsure if it was the heat of the fire or my own schoolboy awkwardness that brought on a sudden hot flush. In either event, the outcome was the same and I stood there blushing and blabbering on like a teenager on his first date. Thankfully, she either didn't notice or was way too professional to make a comment on my sudden outburst of incoherent rambling about how I loved her hairstyle and how she wore my favourite perfume. I would favour the latter so she won me over on that one.

Her choice of wine was a Cabernet Sauvignon to which I must add, not many of my past girl friends ever drank, but once more underpinning my 'well to do' theory. I settled down on the stiff chair opposite of her, wondering how I would slip in the question if she saw some paranormal activity around here.

"Tell me about Matt. Do you really believe he's phoning a radio station from his coffin, Geline?'' She must have sensed the patronisation in my tone, for I could see her brow frown and her lips tense up searching for words.

"Look," I said, trying hard to pull on the reins of common sense and slow down the car crash that just drove out of my mouth, "it's impossible for this to happen. For one thing, the cell phone battery would run out and two.'' this one I had to think about saying after my episode with my room phone just thirty minutes ago. "Dead people don't speak.''

I think putting it so bluntly must have hit a chord, and to be honest, I half expected her to get up and leave, but I had to see just how committed she was to her story. If she truly believed in what she had written, she would stay and I would give her the respect because of it. If not, then I had saved myself a few days going over a piece that wasn't even worth following up on, and I could put it along with its trash buddies back at the office. She didn't move. Instead, she produced a small recording device from her purse, clicked it on and placed it on the table between our drinks.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter six

For a second or two, I heard nothing but a static silence hissing out of its monotone small speaker. Crackling interference was slowly replaced with incoherent mumbles as if someone is speaking from inside a closed room. Then who I can only assume, was the DJ named Selvix speaked, his voice was clear and precise as you would had expect a veteran broadcaster's to be. His first question was non-leading other than to ask 'who's Calling, and how can we help?' The pause that followed was full of the same static as before until a child's voice fades in, sounding like it was from within a tin can. It's familiar tone raised goosebumps on my arms and neck reminding me of my recent episode with the room phone, both were one and the same.

"Who are you?'' the Dj asks again.

"Matt,'' the voice repeats.

"Where are you?''

"I'm lost.''

"Can you see anything, a building, house, church or road name?''

"No-just-just blackness.''

''You mean it's dark where you are.''

"Yes.''

"Is anyone with you?''

"Yes.''

"Who is there with you?''

"The others.''

"Can they help you?''

"No.''

"What do they want?''

For a moment, the static hiss returned and the DJ whispered to whoever is with him in the radio booth that he thought the boy was gone. The crackling of inert space fades into a serine echo of nothingness and a weeping child bursted into the speakers "They want me!''the goosebumps on my arms folded into a chill that electrified my spine sending a shockwave of fright to my brain.

Geline looked at me without speaking; her ravishing blue eye's were enhanced by the glasses she wore and make them look like beach pools on a moonlit night. The flames of the fire, flickered and danced into the room and gave her complexion a mellow orange glow. She clicks off the recorder and raised one of her eyebrows while slowly sipping her Cabernet Sauvignon. Momentarily, I was mesmerised by her natural beauty. "Well?'' she asked.

The devil of doubt appeared on my shoulders, and I can felt the voice of experience telling me that this was nothing more than a young boy playing a prank on a susceptible DJ who has already set himself up for such a ruse, it was my job after all to debunk this story, that's what Wilbert sent me here for really, wasn't it? Then I thought, why this one, 'Maybe we can run with it for a few weeks' I can remember him saying. 'Find out who's really making these calls and do your report'.

"Do you have more like this?'' I asked Geline.

"Yes, the rest of the phone are recorded on this tape''

"May I have it?''

"Of course.''

"Can I tell you something?'' I began "Just before we met, I think it was Matt who called me here in my room.''

I watched as Geline screwed up her face. Maybe, she was contemplating the fact that after my sardonic patronisation that I was once more mocking her with my story about what I had experienced in my room shortly before we met. I assured her that it was not the case. In reality, I had put the whole thing to the back of my mind blaming it on the first drink I had drunk in two years. Maybe, I had just imagined it all, but when I heard Matt's voice on her recorder, I knew that they were one and the same and maybe there was more to this than I first thought.

"So you believe me,'' Geline said.

"I'm not even sure of what I believe,'' I replied. "The voice on the phone, Matts- in my room he spoke of four numbers, look here I wrote them down.'' I showed Geline the scrap of paper I had scribbled them on. "Have you any idea what they mean?''

"No but this is not the first time I have seen these,'' she said readjusting herself in her seat. It was obvious that they were important and she knew they were significant if he contacted me directly and not through the station. "He refers to them again in his last four calls, look.''

Geline produced a bunch of A4 pages from her leather briefcase she had brought with her and slowly scans them with her stunning blue eyes. The transcripts of each conversation between Matt and Selvix were spread upon the table in chaotic formation one after the other. "Here.'' she said pointing at one, "And here,'' at another. "He mentioned names on each as well, those who he describes as the 'others', were 'Bonny Konroe, Zeater Darnwell, Lilliam Pernose' and so on – seven in total.'' A slight pause hanged in the air between us; it is obvious that Matt was trying to tell us something. Then like a curtain is pulled back to let in the sunlight, somewhere in my midst of childhood memories I thought I had heard those names before. I could make out my father talking with Wilbert in our dining room in a blurred vision of a boy's past. Father was sitting with his journal, reading out the very same names that were floating up from the transcript pages. He talked about how those boys were abducted, sexually abused, murdered, then dumped. Wilbert was the investigative reporter on the story, and father was following the crimes with great interest himself, considering he was the editor at that time and all the stories had to go through him before they could go to print. I remember a heated argument when father accused Wilbert of dragging his heels on such an important story by giving a less than informative outlook and second rate writing. His last words were that he would finish the story himself and that Wilbert would go back to reporting on sports.

"Are you ok Isaac?'' Geline asks me, pulling me back to a subdued reality, "You seemed to have been in a world of your own for a moment''

"What? Yes-sorry forgive me, I was just thinking about something,'' is all I can muster from my fog of distant thoughts. "About twenty years ago seven boys, all about my age, went missing along the coast; it was the biggest story that the Nirvana Express had ever covered or had done since. I was just about twelve at the time so it was a big deal with my father that these kids were found murdered. Four in Quartland, two in Jurnit and the three names you just spoke of in Asevent.''

For a moment Geline stared at me as if I was speaking gibberish."Don't you see!'' I said with the transcripts lifted up high, "Four, three, two and one, just as Matt spoke to me on the phone. Matt is the _one_ and the rest are the 'Others."

"Oh my God!'' Geline simpers from behind her hands, "That poor boy was just the next victim, but why wait twenty years. I don't understand, it doesn't make sense.''


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Above our heads the incidental music of some obscure jazz band that has been playing around us for the past hour was quickly interrupted by a woman's voice. I instantly recognize it as Jasmine's. Her vigorous energy is abundant and it oozes out of the ceiling speakers requesting I come to reception.

"Wait here Geline,'' I sighed, blowing out my cheeks, "I'll be right back.''

The clock on the brown coloured wall chimes midnight, and it was cooler in the hallway that leads through to where Jasmine was still listening to 'Go Country, the best little radio channel this side of Maite'. Suddenly, I felt the effects of my long days travel, the alcohol that I have just drank, and the episode with the possessed phone. It had been a long day and I was in no mood for a long winded conversation with an overjoyed woman.

"Hello Mr. Wilmen.''

"Jasmine.'' I nod back hoping my exhausted head won't roll off my shoulders "You called me?''

"Oh, why yes I did.'' She smiles, retrieving a yellow paper sticker off the side of her computer screen.

"Your boss called, he said he has been trying to get you for the past two hours.'' She paused and looked at me over the rim of her glasses like an angry mom who's mad at a naughty boy who hasn't done his homework.

"Phone's dead I guess,'' is the only excuse that seems viable, then I remembered I left it in my room.

"What did he want?''

"Let me see, oh yes- you need to call him and let him know how you are getting along with your report on the Matt Druple's story'' she reads to me "He's such a nice man, .''

"You know him?''

"Oh why yes I do! He stayed here about three months ago, the same week we had opened after our refurbishment.''I felt goose bumps raise again on my arms and neck. 'He never told you that' a voice in my head whispered.

"First I'd seen him in twenty years, fine lookin' man if I'd say so myself, mind you, I was just a naive young girl back then. Stayed here quite a lot during the time of those poor boy's murders. As a Matter of fact, he always liked the room you're in tonight.'' Jasmine's smile hung on her face much like it did on the picture poster that hung on the wall behind her promoting a big welcome to the ' Venetian Douper ' the finest in Maite hospitality.

"Did he stay long?'' I asked her hoping she would give up more information on the back of such an innocent question. I wasn't disappointed.

"Initially he had booked to stay for four nights'' Jasmine mused, and I could tell she was thinking hard by the way her eyes jerked around in her head. "He came back on the second evening, seemed like he was all agitated, or anxious about something or other. Sweating and breathing heavy as I recall, bursted through the door and just where you're standing came right out and said he was leaving and I should make up his bill''

"And?''

Jasmine shrugged her shoulders, and rolled her eyes as if I've asked the dumbest question she had ever heard. "And nothing, I made up his account and he checked out, he left in such a hurry he forgot this.'' Jasmine leaned down below her desk, the mounds of booking forms, promotional material and the technical equipment required to run a small motel were scattered all around. Eventually, she emerged slightly out of breath with her normally pristine hair gently tossed.

"I found this under his pillow when I went to clean his room,'' Jasmine placed a small worn leather bounded notebook on the desk in front of me. I felt my heart slip into an erratic beat, I instantly recognized it as my father's journal. "Can you make sure he gets it back?''

"Oh yes, I'll make sure he knows I have this."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter eight

Soft footstep from behind closed in until Geline was standing beside me, she looks to me then Jasmine and then the book. "What is this Isaac?'' she asks pointing at the Journal, "I got tired of waiting.''

"I need you to do something for me Geline,'' I asked, pulling her gently away from Jasmine's hearing distance.

"Sure, what is it.''

"Phone Wilbert and tell him you think Matt is about to reveal his killer, explain you expect him to call tomorrow night as usual.''

"Won't he ask where you are?''

"Tell him I'm checking out Matt's grave and those of the other boys, I'm pretty sure he will understand, oh and tell him I have this,'' I say holding up fathers Journal.

"But we don't know that Matt is going to-"

"Trust me Geline'' I interrupted, "I have a feeling you will have more to write about soon, meet me at the radio station tomorrow and I will explain it all.''


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter nine

The old lighthouse at Merilium point sat precariously close to a crumbling cliff edge, fifteen minutes west of Belfast's main route out of town. Its bright white washed facade was in dark contrast to the surrounding evergreen fir trees that seem to try and hide itself from the small dirt road that is the only way up to its towering impression. A perfect place to broadcast, with no other buildings to obstruct its transmissions it has a clear line all the way out to the sea and beyond.

Geline and I were waiting in the small sound booth just inside the main recording studio. The clock on the wall showed 11:56 pm and Selvix was running his sound checks before he takes over his midnight slot. A pre-recorded programme of classic eighties music has been on since 9:00 and the last of Spandaulu Ballet is fading out of the booths speakers. Selvix gives us a thumbs up to us bang on midnight before leading in with his intro. He emulates the King of rock and roll in every way with his slick back hair, aviator shades and fake drawl. If you closed your eyes anyone would know Selvix Wrisley was in the building. 'Are you lonesome tonight' is his ironic choice of first play as we wait for the phone to ring, his mouth mimes in time to the haunting melody that seems to caress the entire building.

"Are you ok?'' Geline whispered to me, "It will be over soon''

"I know'' I reply, yet rarely have I finished speaking do we hear the trill of a ringing phone interrupting the last chorus of the sombre performance. Selvix fades it out and once more his counterfeit accent asks 'Is that you Matt?' just as he has done on all the others. At first there is nothing more than just a void of silence "Are you there Matt?'' Selvix asks again.

"Yes'' a child's voice whispered from within the depths of the stillness, his frightened voice seems to haunt the very bowels of the Lighthouse.

"Are you alone?''

"No.''

"Who is with you?''

"The others.''

"Are you still lost?''

"No, we have been found.''


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

The glow of the sound control panels lit up Geline's face and behind her on the wall her shadow dances and moves. She turns and looks at me; the expression she is wearing confirmed that this has never happened before. But before she can speak, the gentle creak of a door handle moving directed both our eyes to the dark figure that had just entered the booth. Slowly our eyes become accustomed to the face of who was standing pointing a small revolver at Geline's chest.

"Hello Wilbert,'' I whisper, "We have been expecting you.''Wilbert indicated with his gun that we should move back against the control desk, Geline slides her hand into mine, it was clammy and damp and I felt her pulse racing through it.

"Ah, Isaac, Isaac, Isaac,'' Wilbert says shaking his head. "You just couldn't let it be could you, I gave you a simple job and you had to mess it up.''

"It was you that killed those boy's, my father figured it out and put it all in his journal. That's what you were both arguing about that day when I played in the other room. Not about the story coverage, he wanted you to give yourself up, plead guilty or he would expose you to the police, and you destroyed him for this!'' I held up a worn out leather bounded book in the semidarkness of the radio booth. Wilbert's eyes followed it with anxiety and anticipation.

"Give it to me.'' he ordered.

I hand it to him and he placed it in his overcoat pocket. "Why? Wilbert I don't understand.''

A slight smile embroiders Wilber's face, making the deprivation of his cold heart obvious in his demeanour. His shoulders drop before he blows out his cheeks into a deep resounding sigh and for a moment I saw the man I thought I knew. The man who took me under his wing and gave me a job, looked in on me as I learned the business that my father was unable to teach me. My friend, my mentor.

"Ironic really, there I was creating the news and your father asks me to report on it, talk about having an inside angle.''

"But why those boys?'' I asked him.

Wilbert buried his head in his hands for a moment. I can hear his breathing become shallow, it's as if my question is like a knife in his stomach. And it's one blade he was afraid to remove in case it bleeds the blood of guilt. "There isn't no reason to this sickness I have inside me'' He began to cry, "I got weak is all. The flesh is frail and they were just there, waiting by the bus stop, walking home from school. It was easy to get them into my car.''

"And Matt'' I replied, "Why wait twenty years''

"A few months ago I read somewhere that the Venetian Douper was going to be refurbished, after I had disposed of the last body back then I swore I would never do it again. I stayed there, regularly during my cover of the murders and on my last night I hid your fathers Journal under a loose floorboard in my room. But, when I learned of the renovation work I couldn't take a chance that it wouldn't be found. The only thing was by the time I returned it had already been completed, Jasmine was a young girl then but she remembered me and made a big deal of giving me my old room. And would you believe it, below the loose board it was still there. I placed it under my pillow until I could figure out what to do. But the following night I decided to drive into town, and he was there, Matt, just waiting by the kerbside looking lost with his skateboard. It was hard for me to suppress this monster that I have to live with everyday, I couldn't help myself. When Geline called last night and told me you were going back to the grave and that you had the Journal, also that Matt was about to disclose who killed him, I had no choice but to come here tonight.''

"What now then Wilbert?''

"No one will believe these phone calls are real, this story would be lost in the annals of some obscure two bit magazine, I'll make sure of that, something I sent you to do in the first place, it would have been better coming from you Isaac, but no matter, and you have no proof of any of this now that I have this Journal.''

I squeezed Geline's hand and from inside her blouse she produced her small recording device that had a thin grey wire attached to its side. The wire was running through her skirt and was plugged in to the control panel behind us. Wilbert's eyes began to widen, and his face drained of blood as Geline pushes the playback button and his voice boomed out of the panel's base speaker.

"You've been on air all the time Wilbert, so you see I have all the proof I need. Don't I Selvix?''

From outside the booth in main room Selvix removed his sunglasses and gave me a thumb up.

"You tricked me'' Wilbert says, "And the phone calls from Matt?'' he asks.

I look to Geline and then to him, "Can't say for sure if they are real or not I guess,'' he nod, and gives a wistful smile and hands me back my father's Journal.

"I'll be seeing you Isaac,'' he says as he opened the door.

"Yeah, see ya Wilbert,'' I replied, and then just as quietly as he came he was gone.


	11. Chapter 11

Epilogue

A few days later I was back at my desk with a hell of a story to write. I sat with a heavy heart and began to make the cursor on my screen move to the words that needed to be written. Words that had waited twenty years to be put on paper. Geline smiles at me from beyond the plate glass partition with inset door that hanged on silver hinges. The room smells of cigar smoke and vintage whiskey. Before I start I retrieved the small recording device from my pocket that Geline gave me on our way back to Ruppia, it has the soundtrack of Matt's last call in on it, the very same one we listened to in the radio station that night. I pluged in my ear phones and listened to Selvix as he spoke to Matt.

"Are you alone?'' he asks and I remember.

"No''

"Who is with you?''

"The others''

"Are you still lost?''

"No, we have been found''

"By who, who found you?''

"Father, -he is with us, tell Isaac we are safe now''

I felt a tingle of shock electrify my spine, the voice faded away into a static hiss leaving only the sound of a silent void in my head. Slowly my fingers gained a life of its own and it was as if I was being guided by an unseen force. The letters appeared before me as I began to read them and I know that my father was with me.

'Isaac Wilmen Reporting.'

'Two days ago the body of Wilbert Jenkins, chief editor of the Nirvana Express, was found in his car on the grounds of Bayside Cemetery. A small firearm was found in his hand and police believe that he took his own life. It would seem that he was heard confessing to the murders of eight boys on the radio the night before bringing an end to a twenty year old unsolved cold case. He also plead guilty to the abduction and killing of Matt Druple, the same boy who allegedly made phone calls from his grave as covered by the talented Journalist Geline Pottrott who now reports for the Nevana Express.'

' _ **Deep within the dark crevices of the twisted mentality of certain humans, live the devils. The devils who like to kill. Some let their monstrous side take over their human side in order to feel avenged while some others do the gruesome act for the mere sake of indulging in what they call 'enjoyment.'**_


End file.
